what you do in the dark
by midnightluck
Summary: The team only goes to Gotham once, but it's enough to catch the attention of some of the locals. And the joke's on our heroes, because the villains watch them now, you know.
1. Life is a Joke

**what you do in the dark **

**(when no one's watching)**

* * *

><p><em><em>All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners (Cartoon Network). For a prompt on YJ_Anon_Meme.<em>_

* * *

><p>he watches them sometimes, you know<p>

.

it would almost be a guilty pleasure, but he's all about the latter, none of the former, no, not here—

And he watches them, watch-watch-_watches_

they come to his City only the once (and it _is_ his City, no matter what Batsy-pants thinks) they come in, tripping into merry mayhem, and the lovely chaos and it's funny that they don't see it's so _funny_.

.

there's this girl—this _girl—_that Harley likes (wants to adopt) she _likes_ her she shouldn't she shouldn't, should only like him he'll kill this girl soon enough. Calm, calm, though, calm, now, she's as good as a joke, and he'll make her split her brain laughing, she may be (is!) from Gotham, and from good breeding, but this filly has _bite_—

—not much, granted, enough to be annoying but not dangerous, _heavens _no, just the very thought—

it's just so _funny_

—funny teehee, not funny ironic, because the whole wide world is ironic, which just makes it funnier—

she's stubborn, is all, a Gothamite but a hothead (and he can _use _that) but with a glass jaw so fragile, broken with a butterfly's touch…

…not that he won't use a sledgehammer anyways, just for the hell of it

Maybe he'll let Harley have her, after all. It could be…_fun_

_(he likes to watch, sometimes)_

.

and then

then there's the wetboy- water, aqua, something, _whatever_. Little boy playing dress-up, playing at being the leader, and doesn't _that_ just stick in his craw because that should be his little bird there, yes. But no, fishy-go-squishy out of water, or fishy go _buuuuuuuuurn_ would be so lovely

he does like fish, maybe sushi for dinner? _Ooh_, or Chinese. Harley won't like it, but he's not in the mood for compromise, he's in the mood for _eggrolls_—

but not fishlad, because that's cannibalism, and even he has his standards. _Especially _he has his standards. If no one had standards anymore, why, the whole town would go to hell in a handbasket—

oh, wait, wait wait—Yes. It already was hell, the very best kind.

—_he's so good at funny it hurts_—

.

there's a boy, too, one with a logo on his chest, a big red s glowing so bright in the dark because no one ever told him that the brightest lights get targeted first—you'd think they'd tell him that—but he's not important, not a big deal, not his problem—

—because everyone knows the Supers belong to Luther, _not _his problem—

and he won't touch the boy, because that's impolite, to intrude on another's claim.

—_buuuuuuut _he's young and impressionable and so very, very strong, so maybe it's worth it? Maybe it's—no, because Supes has even less humor than Bat-for-brains, not worth it—

—if he could catch a little _bird_—

But that's hardly the issue at hand, now, is it?

.

because the issue at hand has a hand and a hand and a hand, and a whole lot of hands, or so they say

and she's got the bestest color in her hair, superb, red like sunset red like blood—

—red like a certain Bat, but we don't talk about that, no not yet...

but they say she can fly and he did see that, and they said she _reads minds_ but that isn't a worry, because even he can't find his own thoughts in his head, sometimes, you know? Having her try...

...well, it would just be _hilarious_, a real riot, cause there's not enough room in his head for him, much less another pretty little girl (already got Harley one's more'n enough, if you ask him, which you should)

Just _hilarious_, really—

.

-and speaking of bad jokes, there's flashboy-speedy-runner-dash-zoom (anything but Kid Flash) who laughs but not at any of the right things

stupid yellow gnat gnawing on _his _Bats, no wonder they don't get his little jokes, the running idiots ruin their senses of humor and it's just not fair you know not fair at all because his heroes should laugh with _him_ not others not anyone and notnot_not_ yellow-red idiots who don't have the sense not to wear pajamas around—

—he does not like speedsters

buuuuuuuut. but they are fun to trip, fun to stick and trick and kick until they cough up the same red, red outside red inside, and they do look so pretty in pieces on the floor—

but they're just so _hard to catch_

he doesn't like runners. They _run_, run away, because they think they can escape...

—and that's just, that's _funny_

_.  
><em>

but you know who he does like he likes his little birdboy, his own precious little faux-child. It's almost as if he's helping raise the boy as well; the kid's so bright and cheerful, and has such a good laugh, you know, _such a good laugh _and he can work with that, can work with

the boy is stained with Gotham and ruined by honor, but not broken, not useless, and it's his own little game—he doesn't want a _sidekick_ (that's what he's got Harley for)— he wants his bird, is all, a little bird to care for and dwell on and make laugh and break the wings and pluck the feathers out of, and show him the _bright side of life where everything is just so_—

—so—

_so damn _funny, because it's all a joke you know, you do know that right? Life's a joke and a play and just something you do to pass the time between laughs. Because you laugh, right? That's what life's about. You laugh, yeah? You, right there, you _laugh_? Come on, it's so _funny_, it's just life, no big deal it's a joke-a-minute and a real riot and _why aren't you laughing_?

_laugh, damn you_

it's just so

_laugh already_

just so funny

_teeheehahahaha_

so-

.

_I wonder why no one's laughing?_

.

-funny.


	2. So Riddle Me This

**what you do in the dark **

**(when they can't hear you scream)  
><strong>

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><p><em><em>All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners (Cartoon Network, DC Comics). <em>_

__This is not a continuation, but the next in what is quickly becoming a series. This story features the Riddler.  
><em>_

* * *

><p>He's not crazy, you know. He's <em>not<em>. He likes his world to make sense, see? Everything has to make _sense_, even if it's _non_sense.

Everything has to make sense, so he's not mad. That's why he doesn't belong to Arkham because he's not _mad_, right?

Because he may see things backwards and twisted and through a mirror darkly, but they always make _sense_. There's always a punchline, you see? Always an answer, always a solution, always, _always_ sense.

He's alone now, alone inside the crowd, and no one sees him, you know? No one _sees_ him, because he's nobody, so it makes _sense_. He sits in his cell, and looks at the wall beside his head and he lifts a hand and he goes—

_._

_knock knock_

.

just lying there, staring at the bottom of the bed above his, knuckles sore but there's still a concrete wall so he goes—

.

_knock knock_

.

—and he thinks, _who's there_, but he doesn't say it because no one is there, and he knows that because there's no one in his head because that wouldn't make _sense_.

And he makes sense. Because he's not mad. Right?

But he has a plan, you see, a plan to escape, but, shh, don't tell anyone, it's our little secret. Passwords are just like riddles, after all, and he's _so _good at those, so _good_, and he knows and he goes—

_._

_knock knock_

.

and he goes—

.

_knock knock_

_._

_knock knock_  
><em>knock knock <em>

_knockknockknockknock_

.

"_Shut up!"_ someone in another cell yells, and he almost laughs, wonders why he doesn't, and he goes—

.

_knock knock_

.

just lying there, knuckles to the concrete, smiling so broken, because he can get out of here.

He's solved the riddle of Belle Reve, and all he needs in a distraction.

The collars don't work on his _mind_, you see. But then, that only makes _sense_, after all—

And then he'll get back to Gotham, somehow, not important how, because nowhere else feels quite as right like the stain and the stench of home, and he can smell it if he closes his eyes and he goes—

_._

_knock knock_

.

to the rhythm, with the flow, and he goes—

_._

_knock knock_

_.  
><em>

And he'll get his revenge on that bastard bird.

Riddles have answers have structure have _sense_. There's no room for _his_ words or _his _answers or _his_ guESSes or _hIS _WOrds his mADE Up wORDs they're _wRONg_, just sO dAMn _WRonG_

_.  
><em>

_knock knock_

.

but he'll get his revenge (_re_venge, not 'venge' or whatever). How, exactly, is a riddle he hasn't quite figured out yet. But he will, he'll hurt that little bird and all his little friends, too—

because that's what people do, right? It makes sense, because he's not mad, he's _not mad_, right? You don't think he's mad, no one thinks he's mad, right? Right? _Right? _Because he knows, he knows and he goes—

.

_knock knock_

.

—and he's not mad, not _mad_, per se, but maybe just sometimes, maybe he's kind of a little—

.

_knock knock_

.

so he smiles, and whispers_, who's there?_


End file.
